As I wrote this column Saturday — the first anniversary of President Trump’s inauguration — the federal government was shut down. By Monday, it appeared poised to get back to work, as a compromise deal to end the legislative stalemate was in the works . . .
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The public bus dropped me at a dirt patch seemingly in the middle of nowhere. In front of me, on the other side of a four-lane highway, was a wide river. Behind me was a tree-covered escarpment. Pittsburgh was nowhere to be seen.
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I made a pilgrimage in August to a shining house on a hill surrounded by lush forests. Below was a valley where apple trees grew in neat rows. In the distance was a wide river. This place, this magical place, was an oasis of calm, a landscape perfectly suited for introspection.
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